My Summer Fanfic
by BearfootTruck
Summary: When Edvard's uncle dies, he is left with a ranch in Kesselinperä, Finland...in addition to a broken-down car and a sad backstory. Rated M for strong language and automotive violence.


**A/N: What you are about to read is quite possibly the first fanfic based off of the video game _My Summer Car_. What is that, you ask? For those not in the know, it's a first-person survival game where you have to build a car. It can be had off of Steam for only $15 US...or at least that was how much it cost last time I checked. Now, I realize this story was most likely Jossed by a backstory that the developer put in in one of the updates, but still, I worked too hard on this one to let it rot. Anyways, enough blabbing from me...read on!**

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Here's my idea for a fuckin' sport:

I build a car and I whack it into a gopher hole.

So here I am, waking up to another bright, sunny day in the municipality of Kesselinperä, Finland, questioning all the decisions that led me to this stupid fuckhole.

Actually, a lotta this shit wasn't my fault.

In Pussiololskul Comprehensive School, I was just a normal kid with a bright future…just like everybody else.

Then, in my seventh year, I witnessed my parents' murders at the hands of a fuckin' chainsaw-wielding psycho.

Sure enough, the police never caught the killer…at least, not to my knowledge.

If that happened in the United States, they would've blasted that shithead without asking questions first.

Either way, it led to a permanent warp in my psyche.

I spiraled down a dirt road of self-destruction: drugs, alcohol, fast food, _Dungeons & Dragons_…anything to escape the bone-splitting pain that had been foisted upon me by some angry god or whoever thought it would be funny to crumple up my life and throw it into the Wastebasket of Oblivion.

I beat the shit out of my foster parents on a regular basis, which was hilarious right up to the point where Elina – my foster mother – stabbed me in the shoulder.

It still hurts to lift my arm up to this very day.

Eventually, they had enough and carted my ass off to jail.

I promised vengeance upon them, which was pretty damn empty considering that the authorities would have fucked me over real hard had I actually exacted said vengeance.

After I got out, I grasped for any chance of success that came my way.

Unfortunately, a lot of the jobs that looked appealing to me – astronaut, steel worker, and underwater basket weaver, to name a few – required education and/or experience beyond what my sorry ass had.

Other jobs – police officer being one – were unavailable to me because of my criminal record, which is really fuckin' sad because if I were a police officer, I would clean up Finland good.

Instead, I settled for a job at Fukkburger in the town of Soljamanattagivanobrek.

Then again, I supposed it was better to waste my life away flipping burgers than trying to keep my soul intact in prison.

Actually, I didn't have to flip a lot of burgers, because I got what should have been a most fortunate notice:

My Uncle Heino had died.

Now, I didn't know that guy very well, but still, I decided to attend the funeral just for shits and giggles.

Good thing there was a nearby thrift store that just so happened to have a nice suit and tie.

Surprisingly, a lotta people had shown up to the funeral.

What was he, a fuckin' king in a past life?

Maybe he was, because here's why the notice was so fortunate:

Heino turned out to be a very rich man.

I was excited at the prospect of digging myself out of this hole that I fell into.

Unfortunately, pretty much all of the fuckin' money went to his wife Kirsi.

Ordinarily – aside from my foster parents – I don't harm women, but I wanted to kill that bitch…and I do mean bitch.

Actually, I figured I'd spent enough time in and out of the criminal justice system that a life in prison didn't sound like it was worth it.

So, I resigned myself to whatever Uncle Heino offered me, which wasn't much: just 3,000 Markkaa and his ranch at Kesselinperä, which included a small house.

Now anyways, back to the present:

Here I am wondering what I should even do with my fuckin' life.

All I got to my name is a fuckin' pack of sausages and a gigantic case of beer.

Actually, that's not really all I got; there's more.

When I went outside, I discovered that my uncle had left me a car, a 1972 Datsun 100A Cherry.

Well…at least it was supposed to be a car, but it looked like somebody blew up this piece of shit.

Fortunately, there was like a million parts in the garage.

With no other choice, I did what any sane man would do:

I decided to build the fuckin' car.

But where to start?

Hmmm…maybe I should start with the engine.

Problem is, I don't know jack about building a car.

So, I just took random parts and started slapping them together.

In short order, I got frustrated because I kept ending up with extra parts.

The only saving grace was that I had all the bolts to hold the fuckin' things together.

Even then, I thought it would be more fun to throw parts around in my infinite anger.

It didn't do nothin', but it was pretty fun.

Eventually, I got hungry, so I cooked the sausages, shoved them in my mouth and washed them down with a warm beer.

Maybe I should've refrigerated all this shit first.

Ah hell, it did the job.

Soon enough, building the car proved to be boring, but there was a TV in this cramped excuse for a house, so I plopped down on the couch and began watching it.

There was a program on called _Topless Gun_, which sounded exciting to me.

Unfortunately, it was just a bunch of guys fuckin' around, with no topless women to be had, so I shut the TV off and went to bed early.

The next morning, I went to grab breakfast, but then I realized that I ate all the sausages yesterday.

Guess I gotta get more, huh?

After wracking my brains out trying to figure out where to get more, I decided to hop in my van and drive into town.

Yeah, I forgot to mention that Heino's ranch included a working van – a 1979 Toyota HiAce.

After starting it up, I tried to drive it, but then I came to a realization:

I didn't have a fuckin' driver's license.

See, when I worked at Fukkburger, I figured I didn't need one because I had a coworker drive me to and from my apartment.

Nevertheless, I also figured it didn't matter whether I had one or not, because I could learn along the way, right?

Problem was, even when I shifted into first gear, the fuckin' thing wouldn't even move.

That's when I came to another realization:

The fuckin' parking brake was on.

So, after releasing it, I was on my way to sausagey goodness…or at least I hoped I was.

The fuckin' van was hard to steer, but after some finagling, I got the hang of it soon enough.

It wasn't long before I made it to the highway.

After flipping one of the few coins I had with me, I decided to make a left turn.

Once I got on the highway, I cranked the transmission as high it would go and opened 'er up.

For the first time in a long time, I felt no pain, just unbridled freedom to do whatever I want, go wherever I want, and nobody could stop me.

Well…nobody except the fuckin' cops, that is.

Yep…I passed right through a fuckin' speed trap.

That only encouraged me to gun it even more.

Never before had I gotten such an adrenaline rush.

Holy fuck, that felt good!

Those fuckers will never take me alive!

That turned out to be true soon enough.

Even though I lost the cops, for some fuckin' reason or other, the van overheated and died, so I pulled over and stopped.

With my trip into town out of the question, I decided to signal for help.

Actually, this consisted of standing in the middle of the road, waving my arms around like a fuckin' jackass.

For a few minutes, nobody bothered to show.

Finally, I saw a delivery truck barreling down the road.

Naturally, I tried to get it to stop.

Unfortunately, that son of a bitch refused to do so.

As I soared through the air in a fuckin' ignoble fashion, I once again felt liberated.

No more food to buy, no beer to get drunk off of, no car to build, nothing to drag me down from being who I wanted to be.

Best of all, I was going to be with my parents again.

So thank you, anonymous delivery truck driver, for ending my pathetic excuse of a life.

Now if you'll excuse me, I gotta find my Marjatta.

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**Criticism is gold. Negativity and nitpicking are pyrite.**


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